


Breaking Him

by twistedmiracle



Series: Breaking Him [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Complete, Dark fic, F/M, M/M, Multi, Nasty Harry, Prostitution, multi-part fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is out of Azkaban and needs to repay his debt to society, starting with Harry Potter. Harry/OMC, Harry/Pansy, Harry/Draco and Harry/Pansy/Draco Angsty fluff Beta by Irishmod, 13moons and DrGaellon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I think it only proper to acknowledge that this fic was strongly inspired by the fic Animus, written by Isolde13. That fic can be found at http://www.fictionalley.org/authors/isolde13/animus01.html.
> 
> This fic starts off a little odd and gets dark, then darker. I should probably explicitly state that I didn't write this because I believe this type of punishment is a good thing. (A surprisingly high number of reviews suggest that since I wrote it, I endorse it! I do not.)

"Breaking Him." By Twisted Miracle.  
Harry/OMC, Harry/Pansy, Harry/Draco and Harry/Pansy/Draco  
Non-con, minor watersports, slash, het, threesome  
Angsty fluff  
About 17,000 words  
Beta by Irishmod, 13moons and DrGaellon

 

Chapter One

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Harry was sitting at his desk in his study, typing away on his snazzy new Mac laptop as he worked on his latest novel, when Trouser-Head firecalled him.

Of course, his name wasn't actually Trouser-Head; that's just what Harry liked to call him in the privacy of his own thoughts. After all, the man's mind seemed to always be in Harry's trousers.

Harry got up from his desk, stretched, and knelt by the fire.

"Yes, Tilford?"

"Oh, Mr. Potter! I _am_ sorry to disturb you, but I've received a new hand and I believe I recall you once expressed an interest in this one?"

"Oh?" Harry's interest was piqued. He could think of very few former Death Eaters sentenced to Tilford's form of rehabilitation in whom he had ever expressed an interest. "Who is it?"

"Mmmm…" Tilford seemed to be checking papers that Harry couldn't see. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"I'll come right through."

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Harry was twenty-eight years old now, and still single. He'd thought things were going well with Ginny, but they weren't going so well that he was willing to leave with her when she got recruited for a curse-breaker team based in Memphis. And Tennessee was too far for Apparating more than once or twice a year, even for Harry. So that, it seemed, had been the end of that.

Since Ginny, he'd tried dating, but was appalled to realize what "The Vanquisher of Voldemort" (as the Daily Prophet _still_ called him _ten_ years later), could expect on a date. Reporters, for one. For another, dates so starry-eyed and tongue-tied that Harry felt like he was at one of his own Muggle book-signings.

Actually, outside of signings, Muggles weren't usually nearly as overwhelmed by a published writer as wizards and witches were by "_The_ Harry Potter." Nonetheless, Harry couldn't even date a _Muggle_ without wizarding reporters showing up. And Rita Skeeter was still the very worst. After Rita's complete lack of discretion had forced Harry to Obliviate the last cute Muggle he'd tried to take out to dinner—a tall, hot, black bloke, it had been that time—Harry had given up and turned to Fred and George for advice.

Actually, first he tried dating George, but he was just so much like Ginny in so many ways. The hair and smile were only the start. They had the same nervous tics, the same figures of speech. They moved their hands the same way when they talked. Harry felt like he'd already been there and done that. It was half boring and half wistfully painful. And then there was George's small cock. Harry was done. There just wasn't enough to keep him there.

He considered Charlie, the other gay Weasley, but if he wasn't going to move to wizarding Memphis he _certainly_ wasn't going to move to a Dragon's keep in Romania. Technically Harry could write books anywhere, but no, he wasn't leaving home. It seemed Harry loved Great Britain even more than Harry loved the Weasleys - which really was saying quite a lot.

So, once things had gotten less strange with George, which thankfully didn't take long, Harry found himself at the flat over the twins' shop, sipping a lager and talking about escort services. Trust Fred and George to know all about such things.

The escort service that most intrigued Harry was the one that dealt with rehabilitating former Death Eaters. Quite a few of the less dangerous Death Eaters had been sentenced first to Azkaban, and then a post-prison rehabilitation program. Many of the Death Eaters considered to be less dangerous, and therefore eligible for this type of sentence, had been at Hogwarts with Harry. They were young enough to have spent very little time actually serving Voldemort, and consequently they had not done enough of the things that would rack up a life sentence or a Kiss.

All the rehab programs involved some form of service—and some were quite humiliating, at least when one thought like a Muggle. Harry still often thought like a Muggle, as it turned out. Hermione did as well, and she was quite against Harry participating, but in the end it really wasn't her decision.

Tilford's escort service was a combination rehab program, escort service, and brothel. Though it was shocking at first to Harry's Muggle sensibilities, the wizarding world felt that the Death Eaters needed to learn service, humility, and self-denial. Prostitution was deemed one of several appropriate ways to get all of this across to them. The Wizengamot wanted the young Death Eaters, in particular, to see how other wizards and witches lived, and to accept, on a deep level, that their side had lost the war. After all, if one got out of rehab in one's early forties, one could easily be a part of the wizarding world for another eighty to one hundred years. Different Death Eaters were assigned to different types of work, but they all needed to be trustworthy members of the wizarding world for a very long time to come.

Once George, Ron and even Arthur had explained why this sort of thing made sense to wizards, Hermione had agreed to disagree and Harry had made an appointment to talk to Tilford the next afternoon.

Now, more than five years later, Harry's long term favorite was none other than Pansy Parkinson. She had been sentenced to five years in Azkaban and ten years of "rehabilitation service". When Tilford had got Pansy under his authority nearly five years ago, Harry had wasted no time. He'd bought a two month contract on her and brought her home before she had even had a chance to move in at Tilford's place.

Harry had spent two full months squiring Pansy around town most evenings and fucking her into the mattress till the early morning hours. By the time the two months was up she gave fantastic head - she knew exactly what Harry liked.

Those two months had been _wonderful_. Pansy was resentful, embarrassed, and nonetheless oh-so-slightly awestruck in the presence of the man who had single-handedly destroyed most of the Horcruxes and then brought down her former Lord, and all before he turned nineteen. Harry adored the humiliation she tried to hide as he introduced her to people at Ministry functions - people both she and her Death Eater parents had tried to subvert, manipulate, and even kill.

Another great fringe benefit to hiring Pansy was that the fact that by twenty minutes into their first date, no one cared that she was his escort. No more reporters, no more Rita Skeeter. It wasn't romance; it was a business transaction, and that, thankfully, did not sell newspapers.

Harry still called on Pansy for a weekend contract around once a month. Her mouth was sinfully good, and they were quite used to each other by now. She knew how to sit at his feet while he worked, she knew what sorts of sex he wanted, and she'd actually come to enjoy getting fucked by him. Or so she said.

Sometimes when Harry got really caught up in his writing while Pansy was there for the weekend, she would even spontaneously put on some of the skimpy lingerie he kept there for her and traipse into his office, not saying a word. She would sit in his lap if he seemed amenable, or simply drape herself across his desk, bare arse stuck out invitingly. Then he would fuck her while she spouted the pretty phrases that he had taught her he liked. One that sounded particularly good coming out of her little pureblooded mouth was "I want to fuck you till I come all over your big hard cock, baby!" It was delightfully low-class and trite, and Harry liked that from Pansy, because Pansy didn't. Forcing her to say words she found distasteful was part of the fun.

On the other hand, when he did let her get on top and come on his cock, she really did seem to love it. And that was actually quite enjoyable, as it turned out.

Harry would even let her sleep curled up in his bed, if she chose to stay. She usually did. If she didn't, that was what the guest suites were for. Harry was sure he didn't really care either way.

Draco Malfoy was a different story altogether. Harry had been dreaming of taking him even longer than he had known about Trouser-Head's rehabilitation and escort service. Harry had mentioned Malfoy to Tilford once or twice, and Malfoy's Azkaban sentence had indeed just ended. It had been in the Daily Prophet that morning.

Harry wondered how long Malfoy would be required to submit to Tilford's control. He would have to ask. He didn't have time to look it up. He was too eager.

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Harry stepped through the Floo to Tilford's reception room. Trouser-Head was on his knees, waiting. Harry wasn't crazy about this aspect of Tilford's personality, but at least it was obvious why the man had got into this line of work. Keeping his sigh to himself, Harry sat in the chair provided for his comfort and waited for Trouser-Head to crawl over to him. It was also true that coming would help him deal properly with Malfoy.

It would not do at all to lose control in the first few minutes.

Trouser-Head crawled on his knees to Harry's chair, and nuzzled Harry's already half-hard prick through his old jogging bottoms. For a moment Harry regretted not wearing a tailored outfit that showed power and status, but then he decided that his casual, messy clothes showed contempt for Malfoy and his lack of desire to impress anyone at Tilford's business. And that was just fine.

Tilford was easing Harry's prick out of his jogging bottoms now, worshipping Harry with his eyes, his hands and soon, his mouth. Harry leaned back into the chair and concentrated on the sensations. He certainly didn't want to watch Tilford suck him off, but the man was really, really good at this. There was no denying that. Harry tried to force himself not to think about Tilford's face, and to simply feel the sucking, the licking, and the gentle tooth play. Trouser-Head really knew how to make good use of Harry's foreskin—slipping his tongue underneath, moving it with his lips, getting Potter hard until his foreskin was completely retracted. And then Trouser-Head teased the vein underneath with his tongue, teased the slit with just the right level of aggression, teased Harry's foreskin oh-so-gently with his teeth. And then the man really started sucking in earnest, setting a fast, hard rhythm, matching it with the hand at the base, rolling his balls just right—neither too gently nor too roughly. Since he had no reason to hold back, it wasn't long before he was pumping come down Tilford's grateful throat.

"Thank you, William." Harry slipped his softening cock back into his clothes. "I'd like to see Malfoy soon, but first, I have some questions.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," but he didn't move.

"William. Get off the floor."

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Trouser-Head was finally getting up, sitting across the conference table from Harry. Now Harry saw the thick sheaf of papers, the file folder with Malfoy's name and Azkaban ID on the front.

"How long has Malfoy been sentenced to rehabilitation?"

"Mr. Malfoy is considered the worst of the young Death Eaters. He is lucky to have been given a rehabilitation sentence at all, I think. He will be with my service for a minimum of fifteen years. Then he will be eligible for release, depending on reports from clients, me, and the opinion of the Review Board."

"Have you seen him yet? What sort of shape is he in?"

"Yes, I have seen him." Tilford steepled his fingers and looked at Harry. "He looks, frankly, like he is fresh out of Azkaban. As you know, the prisoners there aren't allowed to cut their hair, and since he was in there for ten years, his hair and beard are extraordinarily long. I remembered your reaction to Miss Parkinson's long hair so I made sure his hair was not cut. You, of course, have permission to cut his hair while he is under contract with you… should you choose to buy a contract, that is."

Tilford looked embarrassed for a moment, wondering if his assumption was overstepping his bounds. Harry, who had every intention of leaving there with Malfoy under a very long contract indeed, waved aside Tilford's concern.

Tilford continued. "He is quite thin, he looks angry, relieved, and extremely pale. He must be naturally very pale as they are all pasty when they get out but this one looks almost ivory colored. With his white-blond hair and grey eyes it's a very unusual look. He looks a bit ill right now, but I think with good food and a real bed he'll be much healthier in a week or two."

Harry was clearly very interested, so Tilford kept talking. "Like all of them, he's been charmed to be unable to touch or use a wand, and Apparition prevention has been implanted. His innate magic, of course, is untouched, as the Ministry is still unable to affect that directly. He is very weak physically, but I have caught him attempting wandless magic already, so he is either very magically strong, very arrogant, or both.

"Both."

"I see. You knew him at Hogwarts, did you not?"

"Not only were we at Hogwarts together for six years—I'm sure you know neither of us returned for our seventh year—but we were also arch-rivals from the beginning. He was the very first wizarding child I ever met. We have history going back seventeen years, Tilford. I'm eager to bring Mr. Malfoy into my home and show him who won the war."

Harry's grin was practically feral. Tilford tried not to salivate. Really, being allowed to suck Mr. Potter off occasionally was the greatest reward of owning this business. Even free access to all of his uncontracted escorts wasn't quite as fantastic as being responsible for fulfilling the sexual needs—both personally and indirectly—of the greatest wizard since, well, probably Merlin himself.

Not that Tilford was a brazen, unabashed groupie. Well, not that he was willing to admit out loud, anyway. Of course, Mr. Potter knew the truth, but Tilford didn't mind as long as Harry kept coming back. Most of Harry's salivating groupies didn't even get to brush the sleeve of his robe as they passed him in Diagon Alley. Tilford actually got to suck Mr. Potter's cock a few times a year. He knew how lucky he was, especially when Mr. Potter got _that_ look on his face. Oh, but he was sexy. Tilford was glad the conference table hid the huge tent in his robes. He'd already come while sucking Mr. Potter off and stolen a moment to quietly charm himself clean. But when Harry got _that_ look, well, Tilford just couldn't help himself.

"Of course Mr. Potter. Is there anything else you would like to know? I have a great deal of paperwork on Mr. Malfoy. You are welcome to read it all, if you like. I can copy it for you to take home?"

"Is anyone else lining up to buy a contract on Malfoy?"

"Not as such. But I haven't released his presence here. By the time anyone else realizes that he was processed extra-quickly and is in my care, he'll be at home with you, for however long you wish.

"If I may be so bold, sir," Tilford continued, "I would recommend that you buy an unusually long contract on Mr. Malfoy. I've had to call in a favour or two to get him here a day earlier than normally done. Once others think to look for him here, I expect to have a list of takers. If you are wishing to monopolize his time, I think you'll want to wait out the other interested parties."

Tilford wasn't being self-serving, Harry decided. Yes, he would get paid up front for the whole of the contract, but Harry knew Tilford loved having Harry in and out of his Floo frequently. He was annoyingly giddy over Harry's latest schedule of roughly twice a month visits to purchase weekend and overnight contracts with Pansy and the short rota of others Harry chose less often. If Harry bought a few months time with Malfoy then he would have no reason to come back to Tilford's place till that contract ended. So Harry particularly appreciated Tilford's honesty.

"Sound advice, I think. What would you recommend?"

"Well, Miss Parkinson was snapped up quite quickly after your first contract with her ended. She was busy for both public and private engagements for, let me think… about six weeks after that. I think your first contract with her was for eight weeks?"

"That's correct. So perhaps I should double that? Or, no, he's far more infamous than she is. The women may usually be more popular than the men, but I think things will be different for him. What would you say to a six month contract, Tilford? Can I take him from you for that long?"

"A twenty-six week contract?! Gracious, Mr. Potter. I've never had call for one so long."

"William, Malfoy is _mine_." And there was that feral look again. Merlin on a stick, was Tilford ever going to have to wank when this was over. Or better yet, perhaps he would call Warrington down to give him a blowjob.

Harry misunderstood Tilford's long pause, so he continued: "Here, let me sweeten the deal. After I've had Malfoy for, let me think… six weeks, I'll want Parkinson to come by for one night and the following day. I think she was his girlfriend back at Hogwarts. I expect he won't like seeing her with me."

Tilford gathered his wits. "Mr. Potter, I would be honored to sell you both contracts."

"Oh! And I don't want Parkinson's contract to come up while Malfoy is in here. That needs to be a complete surprise to him. Though I would like to warn Pansy about what I have in mind."

"That will all be arranged. Is there anything else, or should I have Malfoy and the paperwork brought in?"

"I think it is time for me to finally see Malfoy again, Tilford. Bring him in."

The secretary brought in the contracts and took them away once Harry had reviewed and signed them. Then a handler brought in Malfoy. Harry wanted to jump to his feet and grab at the man, or hex him, but he restrained himself. He swiveled his chair around slowly and calmly looked Malfoy up and down. Dressed in cheap trousers and a plain t-shirt in Azkaban grey, Malfoy was obviously undernourished. His hair was as long as Tilford had said. The tight champagne braid was over Malfoy's shoulder and still touched the waistband of his unbelted trousers. The end of the braid looked ratty and very uneven. The handler put a tiny overnight bag down next to Malfoy and stood quietly at the door, wand in hand.

"Kneel here, Malfoy." Harry's tone was clipped and annoyed, as though he wasn't here because he desperately wanted to be.

Draco knelt at Harry's feet and looked at the floor. Harry touched his hair. It felt coarse, dirty, and slightly brittle. He pulled up Draco's shirt a bit and saw that the man's ribs were sticking out. He noticed with satisfaction that Draco winced slightly under his attentions.

"Liggy!" Harry's voice rang out and a house-elf appeared.

The house-elf said nothing, simply bowing at Harry's side and looking at him.

"Run a bath in the guest suite. Fetch that shampoo I save for the new cases. Wash this one's hair very thoroughly and then deep condition it. Deep condition it twice, if you have to. It feels nasty. And trim off the last few inches, but no more than that. And remove the beard and mustache completely. He looks like a tramp.

"While he's soaking in the tub, I want you to cook a large roast for dinner. I want three vegetables, some heavy sauces, a nice wine, pumpkin juice, and a very fattening dessert. Something viscous. Make enough for two people, plus whatever you need for yourself. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, sir. Will Liggy be bringing hims to Hideaway or will you be's doing that, sir?"

Abruptly, Harry's head whipped around to glare daggers at the man kneeling at his feet. "Get out of my head, Malfoy!!"

Harry realized belatedly that while he'd been talking to Liggy, Draco had been sneaking into his thoughts. Infuriated, he threw up his Occlumency shields and demanded that Liggy bring Malfoy back to The Hideaway and bathe him at once.

Liggy simply nodded and the two disappeared together with a pop.

"That foul little bastard. I wonder what he saw?"

Tilford was nearly apoplectic. "I am so sorry Mr. Potter! I had no idea he was capable of wandless Legilimency!"

"Don't fret about it, William. It's Malfoy who needs to quake now. Look, before I go, can you bring Pansy in? I want to talk to her for a bit. She isn't out on a date right now, is she?"

"No, Mr. Potter, I'd be happy to have Miss Parkinson brought to you."

Tilford snapped his fingers and the handler vanished, returning quickly with Pansy, who looked like she was in the process of getting ready for a night out on the town.

"Why Harry! What a surprise to see you! I thought I was going out with Fudge tonight!"

"Cornelius Fudge? I thought he was married?!"

Pansy's amused laughter was actually quite pleasant. "No, not the former Minister of Magic, his granddaughter, Lilithia. She's taking me to some sort of Muggle thing. Opera, I think William called it?"

"Yes Miss Parkinson," Tilford replied. "You are contracted with Master Lilithia Fudge for the evening and…" he checked a page, "through the rest of the week, actually. Mr. Potter has asked you here to talk to him about the newest hand on our staff. If you would excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

"Certainly, William."

Pansy arranged herself artfully on Harry's lap. He was, hands down, her favorite client. He liked to think of himself as a strong, intimidating man, whose new mission in life was humiliating and rehabilitating—while screwing—former Death Eaters. And it was true that it had taken her well over a month to get over his fame, his astonishing magical power, their mutual history and his actual accomplishments. But after that, she had realized he was really a big softie. And a remarkably good lay—even when he thought he wasn't concerned with her pleasure.

Harry stroked Pansy's hip. She wasn't wearing make-up yet and her long dark hair was still in disarray, but she was wearing a lovely red satin gown. Harry wondered idly if Master Fudge was a former Gryffindor, or if Pansy had simply realized she looked fabulous in red. The dress had no sleeves and so showed off her slender arms. It also hinted at the charms of her back and arse, which Harry particularly liked. Those bits of her were a big part of why he so often fucked her while she was bent over his desk or dining room table.

"You look good like this," he told her, and aware that he couldn't mess up her make-up when she wasn't wearing any, he turned her face to his and kissed her. Unable to resist the red satin, he also reached up to caress her breast through the fabric.

Pansy sank into the touch. She knew Trouser-Head wouldn't approve, since Harry wasn't paying for this, but he'd left them alone in here and he could bloody well stuff himself. She was the envy of the whole stable for being Potter's favorite and she intended to remain at the top of his list.

Harry sucked on Pansy's tongue for a moment, plundering her lovely mouth. Then he pecked her on the lips and pushed his reawakening erection at her silky hip as he pulled away to speak. His hand, however, remained on her breast, his thumb circling her nipple.

"Panse-a-muffin, I need to ask you a favour." And the wild, dangerous light that suddenly came into Harry's eyes was something to behold indeed. She was actually a bit frightened of him again—just for a moment.

"Guess who finally got out of Azkaban? I'll give you a hint. Quidditch."

Pansy figured he had to mean Draco, but she liked teasing him. "Umm, Cho Chang?"

"No Panse, Cho got out years ago. She's doing her rehabilitation closer to her parents. I think they based her in Fraserburgh. Don't play with me, Muffin. I can tell you're just trying to drag this out."

Pansy slid further into his arms and pressed on his erection.

"Don't blame me for wanting to sit in your lap longer, Harry," she purred.

"Panse, don't do this to me," Harry groaned, but his hand was still stroking her breast. "You have a date with a rich, educated woman tonight, and I have a half-starved Death Eater in my bathtub. I know you read the Prophet, I'm sure you already know I'm talking about your old pal Draco Malfoy."

"Of course I do, baby, but teasing you is so much fun. And don't you want to go home to Draco with a massive stiffy? You can walk in on him in the bath and scare him with it." Pansy giggled warmly.

"Panse, you can definitely give me a frightening boner, but Malfoy can too. That is not going to be a problem. Tell me now, were you two friends? Lovers? I've contracted with Trouser-Head to have you come over for a while next month. I want you to help me break Draco down."

Pansy wiggled in Harry's lap, pressed into his circling fingers, teasing him further… and herself, to tell the whole story. "We were… complicated is probably the right word, Harry. We dated, we slept together, we were friends, we hated each other… we ran the gamut. And while we were actively serving old Voldy, we hardly ever saw each other. I wasn't good enough for Lucius, so we would never have married. And Draco was a lot higher up in Voldy's service than I was. That's how he ended up with such a long sentence. He was Voldy's personal Potions master, though of course Draco never officially got his master's certification."

Pansy sighed and laid her head on Harry's shoulder so he couldn't see her eyes. "I'll do whatever you ask me to Harry, of course you know that, but I won't enjoy hurting Draco for you." Harry didn't know it, but Pansy was just telling him what he wanted to hear. He had always been fairly easy for her to manipulate.

"Damn right you'll do what I want, Panse." Harry let go of her breast. He didn't sound angry, exactly. More like determined. Aggressive. "I've been waiting for this for years. I am going to show Malfoy who won this war."

Pansy decided she needed to change the subject. She snuggled her satin-covered thigh into Harry's erection and purred at him. "When I'm with you, Harry, I'm always pretty sure that **I** won the war." And she kissed his stubbly jawline.

"Panse-a-muffin, you really are determined to rile me up, aren't you? I can't shag you on the conference table, you know, you have a date, and I do too."

"Pity. I'm sure her cock isn't nearly as big as yours." And Pansy reached for his, as if to check. He dumped her gently on the floor.

"Seriously, Pansy, not tonight. You'll be over at The Hideaway in six weeks and then you can fuck me all you like. And I'll probably let you fuck Draco. Would you like that?"

"I'll like whatever you want me to like, Harry." Pansy kissed Harry's cheek and walked out, pondering her status as Harry's favorite fuck-toy. It looked like that was in jeopardy now. Pity. It had been a good time.


	2. Two

Chapter Two

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Harry was hard and he was finding it uncomfortable. Having Pansy on his lap had not been good for his composure. He Flooed home and found Liggy in the kitchen, which smelled wonderful. She confirmed that Malfoy was soaking in Harry's guest suite bathtub with almost half a bottle of deep conditioner sinking into his ridiculously long hair. Liggy had seen fit to cut off nearly six inches and what was left was still down past his arse. Liggy had explained that he wasn't to get out of the tub without permission, but she really didn't expect him to want to. He'd seemed ill and tired.

Absently stroking his mostly erect cock through his jogging bottoms, Harry made his way toward his guest suite. He threw his clothes onto the guest bed and stalked into the bathroom, completely nude. Malfoy opened his eyes and looked at him warily. He was leaning up against the back wall with his gooey hair piled on top of his head. Harry stepped into the large tub, stationing himself in front of Malfoy's face, his feet on either side of Malfoy's thighs.

Harry spoke without preamble. "I have a problem and you're going to take care of it for me. Suck me 'til I come down your throat. Swallow every drop."

Malfoy said nothing. He looked at Potter's now fully erect dick and pulled his hands out of the water. Though terribly thin, he was still far taller than the other man and—when Potter leaned over a bit—Draco could suck his dick from a sitting position. He wrapped his left hand around the base of Potter's dick and caressed his balls with his right. Opening his mouth, he began to suck in earnest. There was no finesse, no tease, no exploration. Malfoy simply sucked to make Potter come as quickly as possible. He sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing, his rhythm fast and steady.

Harry braced his hands on the back wall over Malfoy's head, enjoying the blow job, closing his eyes. He didn't fantasize or concentrate on what he was doing to Malfoy; he simply felt the sensations. After only a few long moments of this, he came deeply into Malfoy's throat and hid a sigh of contentment.

"That was acceptable, Malfoy, though I'll have to teach you exactly what I like. Anyway, now that I don't have the stiffy Pansy gave me, I can finally piss." And with no more explanation than that, Potter pissed into Malfoy's scrunched up face. "That's for looking into my head," he said, and walked away without another word.

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Liggy cleaned the deep conditioner out of Draco's hair, dried him and braided his hair again, very tightly. It would be all kinky when it dried, he thought. He wondered why Potter wanted his hair long if it wasn't ever going to be loose. She then dressed him in some sort of shift in Azkaban grey. He was covered neck to wrists to ankles, but Potter would have easy access to him, as the thing was all he had on. Silently, Draco followed Liggy to the dining room and waited for direction.

Liggy pointed near Potter's feet, where Draco saw a tiny table. Guessing his place, he sat at Potter's feet and ate silently. The position was degrading but the food was fantastic. Draco ate quite slowly, knowing his stomach had shrunk in prison, but wanting to eat as much as possible without giving himself a stomachache. He hadn't yet finished his meal when Potter was already finishing his own dessert. The dessert looked and smelled wonderful, and was exactly what he'd heard the man tell Liggy to make. It looked like it was some sort of gooey chocolate, whipped cream and peanut butter concoction. Even though Potter was using a spoon, he still looked like he needed a good Cleaning Charm.

Draco hoped he would be allowed to eat some dessert as well, but there was none on his table so he wasn't sure. He finished his meal as slowly as he could, wary of what was next on his agenda.

When they were both done eating what Liggy had given them, Potter called for a plate of the gooey pie and beckoned Draco to follow him. They walked into what was clearly Potter's office. While the man did something or other at his desk, Draco looked around openly, surprised to see that one would never guess that Voldemort's Vanquisher lived here. Instead the room looked like a combination of a Quidditch star's lair and a Muggle writer's den. Potter's desk was enormous and fairly neat. On one wall Draco saw the Firebolt and a modest collection of flapping snitches. There were several old photos of the Gryffindor team holding the Quidditch Cup. Then he turned to examine a collection of framed Muggle newspaper articles and Muggle book awards. Draco would have eaten his own braid if Potter hadn't been awarded an Order of Merlin, among who knows how many other, lesser awards. But there was nothing like that up on his office walls. Draco decided he must have simply not yet seen the room with all that paraphernalia.

Finishing his task, Potter motioned for Draco to follow him. Now they were in the master bedroom and the other man began removing his clothing. He placed it all neatly on a chair and put the shoes in the closet. Draco stood quietly, unsure. He watched his new keeper arrange himself on the bed, completely nude, and start covering himself with chocolate peanut butter pie. It didn't take long before Potter had the gooey, delicious-looking stuff all over his cock and arsehole.

Finally, Potter spoke. "I'll be implementing a reward and punishment system for you. For now, I'll choose all rewards, but since you're going to be here for six months I expect that at some point you'll earn the privilege of choosing the rewards you wish to receive. For tonight, I've decided you will be allowed the reward of dessert. I appreciate your silence and obedience. I want you to continue with those habits, so I'll allow you this treat. Eat it off of me."

Draco almost asked for permission to remove his shift, but remembering what Potter had just said about silence, he decided to gesture wordlessly instead. Potter moved a hand to show that yes, Malfoy was to remove the garment.

When nude, Draco climbed slowly onto the bed. He contemplated the mess on Potter's groin, then noticed that Potter's wand hand was also covered in the stuff. So he began there. Potter seemed quite surprised, but not upset, as Draco carefully licked and sucked every molecule of the fattening pie from his fingers.

The pie was delicious. Draco knew it wouldn't be enhanced by the flavour of either arse or salty come, but he knew what he was expected to do next, so he lay on his belly between Potter's open legs and began cleaning the pie off the other man's thighs, then balls, cock and arsehole. Eventually the pie was gone and Draco found himself both rimming Potter and fisting the man's dripping cock. Potter was mewling and whining in a most unmasculine manner, which gratified Draco. His own neglected erection was driving him mental, but he knew he'd get nothing from Potter, and tried to ignore his own desperation.

Suddenly Potter was groaning and pushing Draco's face away from his arse.

"No, I've already come down your throat, I need to come in your arse this time."

Draco longed to point out that Potter's cock wasn't even in his mouth but knew he needed to keep quiet. He made an assumption and got onto his hands and knees in front of Potter, who seemed more than satisfied with his position. He heard fumbling and soon a barely lubed cock was shoving into his unprepared hole. His braid fell off his back and hit the bed near his left hand. He stared at it.

"Wank, Malfoy. I want to feel your orgasm."

Draco had topped men many times and knew how good that felt. He wanted to come anyway. He quickly reached under his chest and grabbed his cock. It had been a very, very long time. Azkaban was a hard place in which to masturbate.

Potter's cock was uncomfortable in his arse at first, unprepared as he was, not to mention he'd never allowed a lover to do that to him before. But it didn't take long to adjust and then, strangely, it felt good. Soon he was coming, come streaming from his cock onto Potter's duvet. He collapsed onto his arms, his arse still high in the air where Potter was driving into him, and, from the noises he was making, loving it. Potter's hands were holding firmly onto Draco's hips and Draco allowed himself to just feel Potter's hands on him, feel the man's cock fucking into him, and then feel Potter come hard inside his arse. Considering how much he'd always hated Potter and how much the other man had humiliated him just that day, it was surprising how good it all felt.

Potter collapsed onto Draco's back and Draco was too weak to hold his weight. He fell onto the bed and Potter fell on top of him, his cock pulling out of Draco's arse as they separated. Draco could feel the wet spot beneath him but couldn't move. He was exhausted and Potter was warm and heavy on his back. He hoped Potter would dismiss him soon, so he could be allowed to go sleep in a box in the closet or whatever other mortification Potter felt like cooking up for him.

"Ahhh…" Potter breathed into Draco's neck. "I'm ready to sleep. I want you to wake me with your mouth. Liggy will wake you instead of me at seven a.m. You can sleep in the guest suite if you like, but I like sharing my bed so I'll award you ten points if you stay here tonight and five more if I like the morning blowjob."

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the wall blankly. He was being invited, actually encouraged, to sleep in Potter's bed with him?

"And I have my Occlumency shields firmly in place, you little bastard, so don't even try to peek into my dreams."

And with that, Potter turned around and slipped under the covers. Liggy was summoned to change the duvet and douse the lights. And Draco found himself, his first night away from Azkaban in ten long years, with the Liberator of the entire world snuggled around his back, snoring softly. It took a very long time before the shock of everything wore off enough to allow him to sleep.

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In the morning, which came far too quickly, Draco woke to the gentle tapping of a house elf's finger on his shoulder. Potter was sleeping on his side, still pressed against his back. It seemed the other man did indeed like having a warm body to share his bed. Potter was already sporting a bit of morning wood, and, nodding acknowledgement to Liggy, Draco rolled over and scooted down to take Potter's erection into his mouth. Deciding that the sooner the man came the sooner he could get breakfast or a shower or whatever came next, he tried to get Potter to come quickly again, as he'd done in the bath the day before. Mostly asleep as he was, his employer (as Draco had decided to think of the man) had no defenses up and hopefully couldn't strive to make the blowjob last.

Draco was soon bobbing quickly up and down Potter's cock with Potter's hands wound into his loosened braid. Moaning his pleasure, Potter quickly shot his come down Draco's throat.

"Mmmm. That was a good way to wake up. I am going to have to teach you what I prefer, however. I'm going to shower. You can wank, sleep, whatever you want. Call Liggy for breakfast when you want it. I don't like the way you look and I want you to eat a lot." And his employer went to shower.

Draco found himself watching as Potter walked away. Draco knew he was far too thin, but Potter was nothing of the sort. He was fit. He looked nothing like a man who spent his days sitting at a desk, writing. He looked like he spent all of his time in the gymnasium. Shaking his head at having such thoughts about Voldy's Vanquisher, Draco lay back for a bit more sleep.

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The days gained a routine almost immediately. Draco would wake to Liggy's gentle taps, and immediately start sucking his employer's already half-hard cock. Potter would come, shower, dress in ratty old joggers and go into his office to write. Draco would nap, eat, and have Liggy brush out his braid. As it turned out, Potter loved his hair loose—just not while they were sleeping or in the gym. Liggy was spending a lot of time unbraiding and rebraiding his hair. Draco decided he enjoyed the attention and the brush felt good on his scalp.

Then he would enter Potter's office. As soon as he walked in, wearing his stupid grey shift, Potter would nod at him, and then they would have some sort of sex. Generally Potter liked to bend Draco over his desk and fuck his arse with almost enough lube, but sometimes Potter wanted a rim job first, or to fuck Draco's mouth. His hands were frequently in Draco's hair. He loved stroking it, yanking Draco's head around by it, and feeling it like a silky curtain between Draco's back and his chest while they fucked standing or on their knees.

Then he would spend a few hours at Potter's feet, occasionally getting a signal that Potter wanted another blow job. It took about a week for Draco to learn how best to suck him off. After a large, highly caloric lunch, Draco would be allowed to nap and then the two men would spend at least an hour in Potter's home gymnasium. Potter would spot Draco but the reverse was never allowed, not that Draco expected to be allowed to help keep heavy weights from falling onto his employer. Liggy and her magic kept Potter safe from such mishaps instead.

After their workout, Potter would shower and then they would eat dinner. Once, however, Potter decided he wanted to fuck Draco in the shower. That time was very slow and sensual, water streaming everywhere and Potter standing behind him, taking him. The water washed off most of the small amount of lube Potter had bothered to put on, and Draco thought he could feel every ridge, every vein. He held tightly to the handles in the shower wall, his wet-honey hair hiding his grimace of pleasure.

They almost always had sex again after dinner. In bed, Potter had a strong preference for Draco being on his hands and knees, just like that first night. Draco would be told to wank while Potter fucked him, then they would fall asleep together. To Draco's shame, the sex felt better and better all the time. Potter's cock was big but not painfully so—and Draco began to appreciate its beauty, as well. It was arrow straight, unlike Draco's, which curved to the left. Draco's cock got purple when he was hard, but Potter's didn't change color, it simply grew larger and more exciting-looking, more intimidating and more attractive, both. Draco began to long for face-to-face sex. It never came.

Draco was fairly bored, and definitely humiliated, but he was gaining weight and his health and strength were returning. He started to need less sleep, so he began reading instead of napping when he had time to himself. To his surprise, Potter's two published novels were both good. The first was a charming coming-of-age story about a young boy who'd been raised by difficult, unloving guardians. The second was like nothing Draco had ever read before. He'd actually been a bit alarmed by all the magic in it, and had risked censure to ask Potter how it could be safe to publish something like this specifically for Muggles.

To his surprise, Potter had been excited to explain the genre called 'magical realism'. He had actually earned a lot of points from that conversation. Apparently Muggles had all sorts of bizarre and contradictory notions about magic, and could read about it in books like this without ever being tipped off to its true nature or existence. And indeed, by the time Draco had finished reading the book, he realized that his employer wasn't writing about magic as it really was at all, but was using the magic almost as another character in the book, as a way to shape and create events and show the reader things about the characters. He was actually disappointed to finish the second one, as the third one was what Potter was currently working on and Potter wouldn't discuss it with him at all.

Draco seemed to be racking up points quickly. He earned fifteen every morning for waking up next to his employer and rousing him with his hot, wet mouth. Then he would earn points for other things: getting his employer hard, brushing his hair while he sat at Potter's feet, silently offering a blow job, offering his arse to get fucked, keeping his eyes to the floor, following Potter into the shower and washing the man's back, complimenting the man's books, home, house elf. Still, he was silent almost all the time. He noticed that his employer only seemed to **take** points from him when he was speaking. Silence was easy after ten years in Azkaban, anyway. It was now his natural habit. He wondered what sort of reward he might be earning for himself. He tried not to get his hopes up. Eating dessert off Potter's arse hadn't been much of a treat.

When he had been there a full week, he wondered if there would be a reward, but Potter said nothing and Draco knew better than to ask. After another week, his patience paid off.

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On Draco's fourteenth day at The Hideaway, Potter stopped him from walking into the dining room just before dinner.

"Malfoy, you've earned enough points to get a reward. You've been such pleasant company, as a matter of fact, that I've decided to allow you to choose between two options. You may sit at the table in a real chair, all week for your meals, or you may take a walk, alone, in my garden tomorrow." Potter paused. "Oh, and if it rains tomorrow you may postpone your walk until the weather is pleasant. I won't take the walk away until you've had it, if you choose that option."

Draco stared openly at his employer. He knew Potter hoped to break him, humiliate him, crush his spirit. Even if that weren't clear from the way he was generally treated, he'd have known it from his stolen glance into Potter's mind all the way back in Tilford's conference room.

He also knew this wasn't the man to break or crush anyone, no matter what Potter thought. He was far too… innocent. Yet, despite sleeping with Potter curled around him every night, the delicious food, the naps, the time together in the gym, Draco had never expected his next reward to be unrelated to sex and everything to do with restoring some of his ruined dignity.

Quickly assessing his choice, he determined that one walk was nothing to fourteen meals in a nice chair instead of sitting on the floor. "Table, please," he said simply, keeping his eyes on the floor. Potter nodded and Liggy levitated his food from his little floor table to the real table. And he ate at Harry Potter's table, too stunned and contemplative to make conversation, even had it seemed welcome. From then on, Liggy never placed his food anywhere but the table.

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Their routine varied very little. They never went anywhere and Potter almost never left, either. The house seemed to have been named "The Hideaway" quite intentionally. Draco's rewards now came once a week, were always a choice between two options, and were almost never sexual at all. Draco got his table privileges extended to "permanent", got six more inches cut off his hair, was permitted to purchase (with Potter's money!) three novels off "the Internet" (whatever that was, but they came by owl and that was familiar enough for Draco), and finally took that walk in Potter's lovely garden.

He eventually realized there was no shrine to "Potter the Saviour" anywhere in The Hideaway.


	3. Three

Chapter Three

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A few days into his sixth week at The Hideaway, Draco was startled at dinner by the arrival of Pansy Parkinson. She looked fabulous, like she'd never been in Azkaban at all. She wore a jeweled black gown, slit up to her waist. She seemed to have no knickers on. Her loose, dark locks were nearly as long as Draco's, though she was so short that on her it seemed considerably longer. Potter had eyes only for her.

Draco was more grateful than ever not to be sitting on the floor—even if he did look ludicrous with his loose, kinked up hair spilling all over his Azkaban-grey, ankle-length shift.

He remembered Potter mentioning Pansy but couldn't understand what his old friend and colleague was doing at his employer's home. Had he earned another reward? He sat quietly and waited to discern the situation.

Pansy ignored him and sat close to Potter, eating little, flirting outrageously. Listening carefully, Draco quickly learned that Pansy had been his employer's most common choice for sex and dates, and Pansy had been pleased with this, or at least wanted Potter to think so. It was also clear that Pansy was there for that night and part of the following day, and that all three of them would be spending much of that time in bed together.

He learned that Pansy was surprised that Draco hadn't been out of the house yet, and that Potter seemed to feel quite possessive of him. That gave him pause. Surely it had occurred to Potter that farming him out to every self-righteous Gryffindor with a grudge would be a sure-fire way to crush Draco's spirit? Was Voldemort's Vanquisher actually too pure to conceive of such punishment? Or was he keeping Draco there because of a possessive streak—did Potter want to keep Draco for himself even if it interfered with his supposed wish to humiliate him? This called for consideration.

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After dinner they didn't even move to a bedroom for their first tryst. Potter bent Draco over the table and threw the grey shift up over his head. He sat a now nude Pansy on Draco's back. Sliding his cock roughly into Draco's arse, he grabbed Pansy around the waist and sucked eagerly on her tits. Sitting up so high on Draco's back, her tits were apparently at just the right height. To Draco's disgust, Pansy started moaning about wanting Potter's cock for herself. But Potter seemed to appreciate it. His mouth was full, though, so perhaps Draco was misinterpreting the noises.

Potter somehow conjured handles into his tabletop, muttering that Draco should hold on tight, push back against Potter's invading cock. And Draco concentrated on pleasing his employer, trying to ignore his hardening cock, pressed uncomfortably into the tabletop. He had to give Potter credit. This was fairly inventive, and, if he'd been the one in charge, he probably would have wanted to do this as well. He could live without tits to suck on, but it certainly was a nice perk to having a woman in one's bed. Not that he would have any choice about whom he was going to fuck for the next fifteen long years.

This position, on the other hand, was crap for him. Or so he was telling himself, but not so convincingly. After all, his now fully erect penis was rubbing unpleasantly against the bunched-up white linen tablecloth and that was hardly the sort of thing that normally got him hard. It was just force of habit, he told himself. His employer had fucked him in this position so many times over the past weeks, always wanting him—until now—to get hard enough and wank enough to come so that he could trigger Potter's orgasm.

It was definitely expectation that triggered his erection. It wasn't the feeling of Pansy's wet cunt and round buttocks sitting, rolling, rubbing on the small of his back. It wasn't the noises the two of them were making over him. It _certainly_ wasn't the feeling of the other man's heavy, hot balls rubbing his own. No, he was resolute. It wasn't that at all.

After what felt like a good ten minutes, but perhaps that was the discomfort talking, Potter shot what felt like a pint of come into Draco's arse. Potter plucked Pansy off Draco's back and carried her into Potter's bedroom. Pansy motioned for Draco to follow and he did, not bothering to remove the shift. Potter's come oozed down his thighs.

He stood in the doorway as Potter placed Pansy in the middle of the bed, leaning against a pile of pillows up against the headboard. Potter turned to Draco and explained the next assignment.

"Pansy is my favorite fuck-toy, Draco, but I don't eat pussy, myself. But girls love to get eaten out, don't they, Panse-a-muffin?"

Pansy nodded. She wasn't even bothering to look coy.

"Of course she does. And I like making my favorite fuck-toy happy. So you are going to eat her pussy while I enjoy fucking your arse. And you'd better make her come, because I want her to enjoy this."

Draco wondered how on earth a twenty-eight year old man was going to get hard again so soon after that last orgasm, which had certainly seemed impressive from his end. The answer came as he saw Potter downing a potion. Of course. Magic to the rescue.

Draco climbed quickly onto the bed, opening Pansy's cunt with his fingers. He'd never done this before; until he became a whore, he'd never had a reason. His lovers had known they were lucky to have him and he always got whatever he wanted—and gave nothing he didn't choose to give. Especially with women, who always harboured the prayer of somehow fucking their way into a marriage.

On the other hand, he'd studied plenty while working to become a better Potions maker and he knew there were tremendous similarities between male and female anatomy. A cock was something of an overgrown clitoris, therefore they should appreciate similar forms of stimulation. Women might not have a prostate gland, but they had something similar and Draco had heard Pansy claiming to like feeling something in her cunt. Hopefully that was true, even if Draco couldn't work out where the hell her G-spot was. So, arse in the air awaiting Potter, Draco located Pansy's clit and pulled it into his mouth. Her taste didn't do much for him but at least he had no facial hair for it to seep into. He slid two fingers into her cunt and started fucking her with them. She certainly was wet. It seemed she had a better solution to Potter's preference for not using quite enough lube. He wished he could make his own, too.

Potter was climbing onto the bed and positioning himself behind Draco, holding onto one hip, pressing his cock at the edge. He felt Potter's cock slide home and sighed warm breath into Pansy's cunt. Finally, enough lube.

Pansy groaned her pleasure and grabbed at his hair. Smug, Draco sucked her clit into his mouth, hard. It was tiny! This was so different from sucking Potter. Nonetheless, he was obviously very good at it. He scissored his fingers and Pansy grabbed harder into his hair. He found a spongy little mass and made sure to give it plenty of attention, raking one and then the other fingertip over it, repeatedly. Pansy groaned like she was growling, and Draco wondered if he could make her hoarse. How long would it take her to come from just this? Who knew, but he hoped it wouldn't take her much longer. His neck was at an unpleasant angle and Potter would probably appreciate an orgasm trigger. Potion or no, he had just come buckets a few minutes ago. And Draco, of course, had not.

Pansy was growling and groaning in earnest now, and she was probably about to yank out some of Draco's hair. Potter wouldn't appreciate that. The hair was almost a fetish for him. Draco was willing to bet Pansy's hair was so long because of Potter's preferences.

Suddenly Pansy was mewling and grinding her box into his face. He breathed when he could, and waited her out, trying to suck her clit even as she made it nearly impossible. Ha! He'd got Pansy off, and right quick, with no prior experience whatsoever. Suddenly Pansy was scooting down, and Potter was encouraging him to slide his rock hard cock into Pansy's box. He did not need to be told twice. Strangely though, as he rocked back and forth between them, the two of them making him do all the work, sliding out of Pansy and onto Potter's erection felt so much better than heading the other direction.

Well, he'd generally preferred men when it was his choice to make. He'd known that for years. Even when he was the Dark Lord's Potions master, locked up in a cauldron-filled laboratory and reeking of fumes from Healing Potions on the one side and deadly poisons on the other, he'd been allowed to order lesser Death Eaters to his bed—when he emerged from his lair long enough to notice other people, anyway. And he'd almost stopped bothering with women at some point during all of that.

Suddenly Potter's low, dark voice was in his ear. "Fuck her, Malfoy. Fuck her hard and take your pleasure. I can't fill you with my come without feeling you squeeze and grab me. I want to come, I want to come hard into you. So come deep into that tight little pussy."

Draco felt his tension coiling, rising. He hoped Potter would just keep talking. That voice was really working his cock, far better than Pansy's slack wet cunt. Potter's hands were on Draco, stroking, caressing. The other man was curled around him, warm breath in Draco's ear, warm skin touching him.

"Fuck her for me. Your arse is so tight around me and I want to come again. Fuck her deep and fast and hard and every time you come out of her I feel you sliding back onto me, so tight, better than anything else, love getting fucked by your gorgeous white arse, take me as you take her, Malfoy…."

Shuddering his release deep into Pansy's cunt, Draco felt his whole pelvis wracking with spasms. And Potter was finally coming again, more and more come, spilling out of Draco's overloaded arse, dripping down Draco's thighs, covering him with Potter.

And then Potter was moving away from him, over to Pansy, cradling her affectionately, stroking her lovely rounded tits, thumbs caressing her suckable nipples, and sending Draco away to the guest suite he'd never slept in. Potter was laughing with her, stroking her hair, not looking at Draco at all.

Draco walked into the hall and the door closed behind him, without his assistance. He stood there foolishly for a few moments, until he started to hear unmistakable sounds of sex. Shocked into movement, he stumbled toward the guest bedroom, then took firm hold of his pride and walked calmly, back tall, chin high. If there was a bit of salt in the shower he took, he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, least of all himself.

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Liggy did not wake him in the morning. He was surprised to awaken on his own at half past eight. He supposed 'Panse-a-muffin' had relieved Draco of the responsibility of the morning blowjob, and the extra sleep was refreshing, but it was so… odd to wake alone. The bed seemed large and cold. Draco went for another shower, even though he'd showered right before falling asleep.

He was just beginning to rinse the conditioner out of his obnoxiously long hair, when Liggy magically yanked him out of the shower. She flicked a finger at him and the conditioner was gone, his hair mostly dry.

"Master want you," she said simply. With a snap of her fingers, Draco found himself kneeling on Potter's bed. He shook his head, his hair settling around his back and sides like a silver curtain. Traveling like that was unnerving.

Potter was getting off the bed, heading for the shower. "Pansy wanted to fuck you, Malfoy. Give her whatever she wants. I'm going to work in my office a few hours, give my cock a rest before I have at you both again. Be ready to get fucked again, oh, let's say right before lunch." And then Potter headed into his bathroom.

Pansy pulled him towards her, on top of her, and murmured into Draco's ear. "He won't be in there long, old friend. We should look convincing when he gets out but then we'll have some time to be ourselves."

Draco was only slightly surprised. He set about getting himself hard with his hand, and—moving his infernal hair out of the way—he slid under Pansy, who rode him gleefully. Potter took a brief shower and then disturbed Pansy's perfectly pleasant sliding up and down on Draco's cock in order to kiss her mouth and stroke her breasts. Then the man dressed and headed out and Pansy rode Draco hard until she came, which was only a few moments after Potter stepped out into the hallway.

"Mmm. Thanks, Draco. I quite enjoyed you. I expect you would like to come as well?"

In the habit of silence, Draco simply turned her gently to her stomach, legs together. With a bit of help from her he slid his cock into her cunt and, ignoring that she was Pansy, fucked into her hard and fast for a few long moments. In this position she felt very tight, and he didn't have to pretend that he was there to please her. He could ignore her tits, her face, everything but the feeling of her tight, wet, hot hole milking his cock.

After he came, he lay on her back until he felt her squirming. Well, he was a large man and she was quite a small woman. The last time they'd fucked Draco had been fifteen and therefore about eight inches shorter. He rolled off her gently, putting as much weight as he could onto his elbows, the mattress.

Not quite ready to relinquish all control, he turned her to face him, stroked her nipples, leaned over to take a lovely small breast into his mouth. Pansy still had excellent tits. They looked, at twenty-eight, much like he remembered them looking when she was only fifteen. He wondered if she kept them with magic or this was natural. She was snuggling up to him, petting his hair, enjoying his mouth on her, allowing him to take their time together at his pace. He was glad of it. Potter was hardly a cruel man, but the lack of control galled.

"So, old friend, we've a few hours of privacy. I'd like to hear how you are." She continued to pet his hair. It felt nice. "You've made rather an extraordinary impression on Harry."

Draco felt something in his chest clench. He refused to speculate about it.

Pansy snuggled into his arms, making sure he had good access to her tits if he wanted it. He did. He looked at them instead of her face. He refused to be caught off guard and reveal... anything. She stroked his back and started to speak. Her voice was quiet and confident in his ear. He cupped and sucked and stroked her tits, but he listened to every word.

"He's not gone this long fucking only one person in over four years. And it seems quite noteworthy that he doesn't take you out. When I first got out of Azkaban he dragged me to more humiliating Ministry fetes and big private social gatherings than I could count. He loved watching me suffer through meeting prominent Muggle-born success stories, rubbing things in my face.

"And he was all the time showing off his magic, too. He can do almost everything without a wand, or at least he could then. I get the impression, from something he said to me, that he never shows off for you. He wanted to scare me with his power, but it seems he has no interest in doing that with you. I don't know what's changed him. I wonder if it is you."

Pansy stopped speaking and looked deeply into Draco's eyes, one hand gently cupping his cheek. Draco wondered how much of this conversation was Slytherin cunning and how much was happiness at seeing an old friend finally out of Azkaban. He worked to keep his expression blank.

"Taming Harry Potter would be quite the feat. All the other hands back at Tilford's seem to think I've done it, but I know it isn't really true. I'm only what Harry told you I am: his favorite fuck-toy. I wonder if you could be a lot more."

He stroked her hip. "Why would I want to be, Pansy?"

"Why indeed, my dear? How about fifteen years in that beautiful man's bed instead of being constantly farmed out to get fondled and sodomized by ugly old men? Ugly old men whose precious children were killed by the Dark Lord. How about Tilford's respect and appreciation, which he shows by giving you more control, more freedom, fewer contracts with people other than Harry, and a better bedroom back at the brothel. Only three of us have our own bathroom, darling, and I'm the only one who's always had one to herself. You see, Harry Potter occasionally visits me at Tilford's place, and he needs a private place to shower when he's ready to leave. There are lots of obvious reasons to cultivate Harry's attention, my old friend. And perhaps…" she looked at him searchingly for a moment. "Perhaps there are also less obvious reasons, but we don't need to talk about what they might be."

Draco rolled onto his back, cuddling Pansy into his side.

"I didn't know any of that about Tilford's, Pansy. I came here essentially directly from Azkaban. I was only at Tilford's long enough to be issued a toothbrush and that damn grey shift, really. But I can certainly believe that Potter treats me in ways that no other client would. I think I've gained one and a half stone in the time I've been here, and it's all muscle. We spend an hour in his gymnasium every day. He actually wants me to be healthy. I can't fit into my Azkaban trousers or shirt anymore—they're both far too small now. I feel healthier than I have since, well, I don't know. I wasn't very healthy slaving over the Dark Lord's poison factory."

Pansy stroked his firm chest with one delicate little hand. "You look extremely sexy. Even if that's his only motivation, you benefit. I _would_ encourage you to do more to wrap Harry around your little finger, but you are doing so much better than I ever have that I can't see how I could presume to give you advice."

Draco decided he'd had enough of this conversation. "Tell me about the rest of the hands at the brothel, would you? Anyone else I know from Hogwarts? Anyone I need to be careful around?"

The two old friends talked together, enjoying each other's company and the lack of demands made upon them.

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About an hour before lunch, Potter returned to the bedroom. He walked in, stretched, put his shoes under the bed, and sat down. He looked positively grumpy. Draco and Pansy scooted over slightly to make room for him. They were still both completely nude.

"I just had the most appalling conference call with my editor and her team. The shit has hit the fan over the title I want and the cover they are trying to push on me. Relax me. I'm wound tighter than a bowstring and bloody furious."

Draco looked at Pansy. She had a great deal more experience with Potter than he did. And indeed, it seemed she had some ideas. She pulled away from Draco and got on her knees behind Potter, rubbing his shoulders. "Take off his shirt, hon." Her voice was quiet and breathy, as though getting Potter to relax was the sexiest thing she'd been asked to do in a fortnight. Considering they were whores, perhaps it was.

Draco got off the bed and knelt in front of Potter, unbuttoning his shirt. Feeling slightly inspired, and remembering the things Pansy had said about privileges and benefits, he began licking Potter's chest lightly, teasingly. After each button was undone, a little more of Potter's chest was revealed and explored. When Draco had undone all the buttons in the front, he undid the cuffs, laving over the pulse points, the veins, scratching delicately over the skin with his neat fingernails. Potter closed his eyes and sighed.

Working together, Pansy and Draco stripped Potter of his shirt. Potter barely seemed to notice. Gently they arranged him on his bed. They put him on his stomach, arms up near his head, face to the left. Draco slipped the ever-present jogging bottoms off and began to knead the muscles in his employer's feet. Pansy seemed to be concentrating on Potter's shoulders and arms, so Draco ignored her. She was doing fine. He moved to Potter's calves and heard a deep, soft exhalation. Good. This was working, then.

The two of them worked over the back side of him quite thoroughly. When they met at his arse they each took one cheek and then gently encouraged him onto his back.

Draco wondered if Potter was asleep, but they discovered he was actually relaxed, awake, and entirely erect. Inspired, Draco motioned subtly to Pansy what he wanted her to do, and he lay down between Potter's legs, nudging them apart to get his mouth by Potter's arsehole. Pansy took Potter's cock into her mouth as Draco began exhaling warm breath at Potter's arse. Potter clearly wasn't asleep at all. Realizing that Draco intended to rim him, Potter drew his legs up and away, giving Draco all the access he required.

Pansy's head threatened to hit Draco's as she bobbed up and down, but when she realized it, she wrapped a small but competent hand around the base of Potter's erection. Then Draco stopped worrying about getting banged in the forehead.

He spread Potter's cheeks apart gently with his hands. This definitely wasn't his favorite activity, but he knew Potter loved it—loved the way **he** did it—and that, surprisingly, helped make it a much less onerous chore. Potter also kept himself rigorously clean, and that helped as well.

He normally began with a bit of a tease, but Potter had told them to relax him, not wind him up. So this time he went right for the center. He stuck out his tongue and found his goal, the tiny ring of muscle and so many trillions of nerve endings. Despite having most of his cock in Pansy's remarkably talented and well-trained mouth, Potter rewarded Draco's contact with his arsehole with a loud groan.

Wasting no time on subtlety, Draco laved around the ring with a circular motion, then began to force his tongue inside. Potter pressed back toward Draco's tongue, loving the pressure, the feeling. Repeating the motions, Draco swirled around the ring and then fucked into Potter's arse again and again. After a few minutes of this, his tongue getting tired, he began to stroke Potter's balls with his hand, and Pansy joined him. With a warm palm cupping and rolling each of his balls, a tongue fucking rhythmically into his arsehole and a hand and hot, wet mouth encasing his cock, Potter finally came. Pansy was careful to swallow it all.

Potter stuck his hand up in the air and two potions drifted into it. He downed his quickly and gave Draco's erection a lascivious glance. "Drink this, Malfoy. I want you to last a bit."

Draco couldn't help but look the bottle over first.

"Don't worry," Potter laughed lightly. "I buy them, I don't brew them!"

Draco drank his potion. And turned his head to Potter to see what he wanted next. "I think you two get a turn now, and I know just what I want," he said. Potter positioned Draco to lie down diagonally, head to the top left, feet to the bottom right, legs spread a bit. Potter then muttered "Engorgio" and spelled the bed even bigger. "You are so freaking _tall_!" he mumbled.

Then Potter lay down diagonally the other way, his groin pointing at Draco's, his thighs resting upon Draco's, their balls pressed enticingly into each other. Confused, Draco looked to Pansy for a clue, but she looked as bewildered as he felt.

"Accio toy" Potter now called quietly, and a smallish double headed dildo flew into his hand. Potter lubed both ends of the toy and sat up, pushing the fatter half into Draco's arse and then the other end into his own. Potter then squirmed closer to Draco again, getting their arseholes and balls lined up.

"I hope you're ready for something particularly special, Malfoy. I've never done this spell for this purpose before. Hermione invented it during the War. Anti-Apparition wards are meaningless if you can change both a solid human being and part of a wall into vapour."

Draco looked at Pansy, astonished. Suddenly the end of the War made so much more sense. They'd thought those wards impenetrable and had never known how Potter and his forces had managed to completely overwhelm them all that warm Spring night. One moment the Death Eaters were sleeping peacefully in their beds, or doing Security detail; the next there were Aurors and Order members everywhere, ripping off invisibility cloaks and incapacitating everyone thoroughly. Except Voldemort, who Potter, had, of course, "vanquished" thoroughly. Draco had been in Azkaban from that night till he'd found himself in Potter's bed.

Draco came back to the present as Potter intoned "Solidus Fio Nebulosus", and his thighs and Draco's thighs became like misty vapours and sank together, occupying the same space. Then slowly, over twenty or thirty seconds, their thighs solidified again, only now what had been four normal thighs were two conjoined sets.

Draco stiffened in undisguised shock. His blood was running through Potter's veins. Potter's blood was running through his own. He could feel the other man's heartbeat. He'd never felt anything so innocent, so intimate, so trusting and intense in his entire life.

And then the little dildo began to vibrate, and he became much more aware of his arsehole, Potter's balls up against his own, and the fact that Pansy was lubing his cock, positioning herself above them, and working to slide Draco into her arse and Potter into her box.

Pansy rocked herself onto the two of them, slowly. She was facing Potter so Draco couldn't see her face, but he found he didn't care. The wall between Pansy's arsehole and cunt was thin, alive. He could feel his employer's cock fucking Pansy at the same as he was fucking Pansy. With Potter's dildo in his arse, Potter's cock rubbing almost right up against his, their thighs joined together, their blood running together…. He felt like he was about to come gallons, much too soon. This felt so incredible, everywhere, even though Pansy and Potter were hardly touching him. But the potion did its job and he lasted and lasted. The lack of control itself became an aphrodisiac. He panted under the assault. Every movement he made rubbed his balls against Potter's. He couldn't get away. The dildo was incessant. Pansy made her own rhythm and changed it as she saw fit. And all Draco could do was take it. He took it all.

Draco's hands fisted in the sheets. This was on the verge of agonizing. He wanted to come. He wanted to come more desperately than he could ever remember wanting it. And he was completely out of control. Pansy set the pace on their cocks, the vibrating dildo set the pace in his arse, and all Draco could do was wait for the magic to allow him to have his desperate, heartrending, blessed orgasm.

Finally, Potter started to come. Draco could feel it through the walls of Pansy's arse. He could feel it in Potter's heartbeat. He could feel it in the enchanted dildo. And as soon as Potter started to come, he did too. And above them, Pansy began to moan and gyrate and come as well. The three of them came together, magic swirling around them. It was the best orgasm Draco could ever remember having. He felt almost ready to faint from the pleasure.

"Finite Incantatem." The words were soft and Potter sounded drained, but their thighs began to separate from one another, and Potter moved away, put his head on a pillow.

Draco assumed that Potter would kick the two Death Eaters out of his bed and nap for an hour or two, but he motioned for the two of them to spoon with him. Even more unexpected, his employer then curled around Draco—much as they usually slept—and encouraged Pansy to snuggle up against his back.

Well, Pansy did have spectacular tits. Potter obviously wanted them rubbing up against him. Draco pulled away slightly, just far enough to twist his hair into a knot. It wouldn't hold well, but it might keep the three of them from tangling in it or inhaling it.

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They woke, still wrapped around each other, about two hours later. Somehow both men were partially hard again. Liggy had apparently covered them with a light, comfortable sheet. The room was very dim, though the Muggle-style clock indicated that it was not quite three in the afternoon. Liggy was a remarkably well-trained house elf.

Draco lay still, just enjoying the feeling of Potter warming him, absently stroking his hip. He thought he could feel Pansy stretching. Potter pressed his face into the back of Draco's neck, burying his face in the pillow of Draco's hair.

"Mmmm…" Potter breathed into Draco's hair, neck. And then, Potter—who was clearly still asleep if he was doing this—reached for Draco's cock.

Draco couldn't help it, he moaned. Potter had never touched Draco's cock like this before. Deliberately. With the intention to give pleasure. Potter spoke breathily into Draco's ear. "Like that, do you? Want more? I've been thinking and thinking about you sandwiched between me and Pansy. That looked really good. So I want in the middle this time."

Draco almost stilled in shock. Only the pleasurable feelings of Potter pressed into his back, rubbing gently into him, and the man's hand fondling his hardening cock kept him from falling right off the bed in surprise. As it was, he felt like he'd just been Stupefied or Confunded. _What the Fuck? Potter was going to allow, was **asking** for Draco's cock in his arse?!_

This was most unexpected, but even if Draco had ever considered saying "no" to Potter's requests, which of course he had not, he certainly wasn't going to say no to this.

Potter continued, unaware of Draco's disbelief. "Pansy has to go in an hour or two, and I want to have one more threesome before she goes." He chuckled low in his throat, sounding relaxed and amused. "Before you two wear my cock to a nub, I mean. This has been fabulous. I want to end with a bang."

Potter encouraged Draco to roll over, and then Draco was spooning Potter who was spooning Pansy. All in all, it was remarkably cozy. "Accio lube," Potter muttered, and the lube sailed through the air into his hand. He handed it to Draco. "I don't get a lot of action back there, Draco. Prepare me with fingers and use a lot of lube, will you?" Draco, knowing how Potter liked him quiet, nodded into his employer's back and squeezed lube onto his fingers. It was already warm, so he tentatively began pushing one finger into Potter, who moaned in pleasure.

Pansy started to moan as well, and Draco assumed Potter was fucking her now. The sounds the two of them were making were very stimulating, and Draco gently pushed some magic through his fingers, eager to get Potter ready for Draco to fuck him. It seemed to work, Potter moaned "Another…" and he obliged, now scissoring two fingers inside Potter as Potter's arse moved back and forth, fucking Pansy slowly. A bit more magic and finger fucking and Potter asked for a third finger, a fourth, and finally Draco's cock.

Fucking Potter's tight arse was heaven. Draco had to work hard to keep from telling him so in words. If they had been real lovers, instead of a hero and his whore, Draco would have held on to Potter's hips and growled into his ear, told him what a tight little hole he had, what a sweet fuck he was. If he'd felt empowered to speak freely, he'd have told the man a million pretty lies about love and staying together forever. Draco hadn't had an arse this sweet since he was a teenager. And back then, his youthful lover hadn't had an unmistakable aura of power and accomplishment about him, or such a broad, tanned, muscular back. Indeed, this was something Draco hoped his employer would want again and again.

Since he couldn't possibly say what threatened to spill from his lips, Draco consoled himself with moans and grunts and sighs. He slid in and out of Potter's arse as slowly as he possibly could. He wanted to last forever. He wanted to come, of course, but he also didn't want this to end. This was so unlikely to be allowed again, and he wanted everyone involved to remember it forever. He worked his left hand under Potter's chest and managed to get in range to tweak Potter's nipple. Potter seemed to like it, so despite the discomfort it gave his wrist, he kept it up. The other hand he worked down to where their cocks were, thrusting in and out of their respective targets. He caressed Potter's balls. He could tell this was making Potter even hotter, and indeed, Potter suddenly groaned out loud "Keep that up Malfoy, and I'll come like a freight train." So Draco continued to stroke Potter's balls, tweak his nipple, fuck his arse, and when Potter began to come hard into Pansy, his orgasm pulled Draco over the edge and he came, blissfully, reluctantly, deep into Potter.

Then they lay together in sated silence and Draco couldn't help it. He fell back asleep.

Pansy left while Draco was still asleep in Potter's bed. When he woke it was long past time to eat. He wondered what life would be like at The Hideaway now that Pansy was gone.


	4. Four

Chapter Four

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To Draco's quiet surprise, little changed after Pansy left. They continued to live a very isolated life, seeing no one but each other and Liggy for days on end. Potter would talk with people at the publishing company, but he rarely left the house. He seemed to have no one in his life except Draco. Draco wondered about Weasley and Granger. There were pictures of them and their children on the mantelpiece, but they never visited his employer's home and Potter only went to theirs rarely. He didn't visit with anyone else, either. They never spoke about it.

The rewards, however, changed noticeably. Had Pansy managed to manipulate Potter into it somehow? At first they became almost extravagant. He didn't even have to choose them, they were simply granted. A set of real clothes that fit. The right to wear them all week. The right to cut off as much as a foot of hair. Potter wouldn't allow another inch after that, though. Still, the hair was far, far more manageable at that length. Free access to the garden, on his own terms, as long as Potter didn't want him at the moment. The right to request first the dessert all week, and then the whole menu. All week.

But then the choices returned, and some were sexual. Generally, one would be a purely non-sexual freedom, and one would be something more lascivious. The first such option he chose was to have Liggy give him a full body massage. It was bloody marvelous. Potter actually watched. And wanked. That surprised Draco, but he did his best not to let it show. Draco was hard as a rock when the massage was over, though.

Next Potter offered Draco a choice between an hour on the Internet, unsupervised, and the right to twice choose their position while being topped. Draco, not wanting to give away too much, chose the hour on the Internet. First Potter had to teach him what to do, and he clearly took a vindictive delight in showing Draco how clever Muggles could be. But the next week, offered a similar set of options, he chose to fuck Potter awake once (instead of sucking him into awareness) over the hour on the computer. He told himself he was just avoiding the computer and the Internet to spite Potter and his "clever Muggles."

Shockingly, Potter liked having Draco fuck him, even when Pansy wasn't around. After that first reward fuck he was required to wake Potter that way at least once, and rarely twice a week. It was always the same. Draco was to lube his cock and fingers well (Ha! Apparently someone knew the value of lube when it was _his_ arse getting fucked!) and gently prepare his employer from behind. Once Potter was ready, Draco was to slide his cock in, and then fuck him, usually spoon style, though sometimes behind Potter with both of them on their knees. Spoon style was surprisingly cozy. He had to stay hard till Potter came, but then he was almost always allowed to continue fucking Potter's arse till he came too. It was far more than he'd ever imagined for his life as a whore.

Anything that was granted as a reward seemed to lose its mystique for Potter, and just as the first privilege of a week sitting at the table had turned permanent with no further groveling necessary, other things, done once, became something Potter expected to give Draco regularly. Soon he found himself usually being allowed to lube Potter's cock before he got fucked, usually being given the option of suggesting positions (though face to face was apparently still completely unthinkable), and the shift vanished, replaced by two more sets of trousers and t-shirts that fit.

And just as Potter's attitudes toward and treatment of Draco loosened, softened, sweetened, Draco found himself changing. He found himself giving Potter completely voluntary shoulder rubs as the man sat at his desk, talking on his little Muggle phone thing to his infernal editor or grating publisher. He found himself making menu suggestions to Liggy with Potter's tastes and needs in mind. He found himself offering to follow Potter into the shower, offering to rub the man's back, offering to suck the man's cock after washing it teasingly. He found himself putting more and more enthusiasm into rim jobs and blowjobs. He found that the mere idea of Potter fucking him hard and fast, or slowly and sleepily—hell, the mere idea of Potter in the gymnasium lifting weights—was enough to get him hard, even after the remarkably full sex life he had as Potter's live-in whore.

Draco told himself he was doing a fabulous job of wrapping Potter around his finger, just as Pansy had recommended, and gave it no more thought. Quite deliberately. He spent his nights in the other man's bed, his days in the other man's office. He reread Potter's books and rubbed his shoulders. He wore his hair and dressed and ate and exercised with the other man's desires firmly in mind. He sucked the other man's cock and arse and generally lived like a whore. A pampered whore, but still, he was a whore. It probably would have been smart to discern Potter's feelings and motivations, but he did not want to. He knew this life was better than Azkaban but that didn't mean he had to be grateful and he didn't want to think about his life any more than he had to. So, he didn't.

He did notice, however, a new development. Potter had always called him Malfoy and still did so frequently. But the more privileges he was granted the more likely he was to hear himself called "whore." Potter seemed to find the word remarkably versatile, often growling it in anger, or using a self-satisfied tone that seemed to say that Potter had personally reduced Draco to this state. Then at other times he would pronounce it playfully. But sometimes, rarely, reluctantly, he thought Potter would endow the word with something that sounded almost like tenderness.

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Then one day, Draco's complacency was shattered.

As frequently happened these days, he was standing behind Potter, rubbing his shoulders as the other man tried to speak politely to that stupid publisher of his. Draco was hard from touching Potter's beautiful back. He'd managed to sneak both their shirts off while Potter was distracted, and he couldn't help but rub his erection, sadly hidden in his trousers, against Potter's hunched, tense back. Hopefully, as soon as he turned off the phone, he'd want to fuck Draco, or at least get a blowjob.

Something Draco did with his hands, or maybe it was his cock, was obviously very good because it caused Potter to moan out loud, right into the phone. The publisher, of course, wanted to know what the hell he'd just heard.

Draco knew that the publisher was a Muggle, and therefore knew nothing of Death Eaters, rehabilitation programs such as this, and possibly even prostitution itself. Though he had trouble believing Muggles didn't have **some** form of prostitution.

At any rate, he knew that Potter would tell the publisher some sort of polite fiction, but when he heard Potter say, "Oh, my lover is rubbing my shoulders. He knows how tense it makes me to talk with you, after all!" and then give a joking little laugh, Draco's heart flew into his mouth.

He wanted to run to the bathroom and lock himself in. He wanted to sink into the floor and die. But most of all, he wanted Potter to hang up that fucking phone, take him tenderly into his arms, and snog the breath right out of him. Oh, bloody, buggering hell.

It was only years of training as a Malfoy, a Slytherin, a Death Eater, that kept Draco's hands moving on Potter's shoulders, his cock pressing temptingly into Potter's back. His employer could **not**, could absolutely not be allowed to know that hearing those words, being called "my lover", sent Draco into the ether. For fuck's sake, he was supposed to be wrapping Potter around _his_ finger, not the other way around!

He was going to have to hide his feelings, ruthlessly. Thankfully, Potter was still as oblivious to such things as he had been as a teenager. He could do this. He knew he could. Couldn't he?

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But, hiding his feelings from Potter suddenly seemed a lot harder, now that he was no longer hiding them from himself. He tried to tell himself that it was infatuation, or a simple sexual attraction, but he knew these were lies. This was more than lust. He truly fancied Potter. And every day it was a bit more than that.

He found himself waking earlier and earlier in the mornings, simply to revel in the feeling of Potter snuggled up to him, breathing on his neck, hand on his hip or waist. He found excuses to touch the other man, more backrubs, more showers together, more seduction. They began to have even more sex and Potter initiated less and less of it. Draco would coax him to stay longer in the gym, offer himself seductively after dinner, sit at his feet while the man worked in order to stroke his calves, rub his feet, turn and mouth Potter's cock through his ever-present jogging bottoms.

Draco was beside himself with hidden tensions. Liggy knew, he was sure. He also knew she wouldn't say anything, as she was the most discreet house elf he'd ever known. Which, considering the Black and Malfoy house elves, wasn't saying much, but still.

The day he realized he was madly in love with Harry was one of those rare times when Harry left the house for a meeting. He'd shagged Draco through the mattress that morning, interrupting a blowjob to growl "On your stomach, whore. **Now**." at Draco. Draco had come all over the sheets from the fucking alone. His hands had been busy holding onto the sheets so his head didn't get repeatedly slammed into the headboard. When Harry came and collapsed onto his back, Draco had sighed his satisfaction and tried to tempt him to stay in bed. But Harry had playfully smacked him on the bum and headed for the shower, declaring he'd be home for lunch.

It was at half past noon, when Harry _still_ wasn't home yet and Liggy was glaring at him for daring to question whether there were adequate warming charms on Harry's Shepherd's pie, that Draco realized he was well and truly fucked. He was acting, he realized with a sinking gut, like a wife. He'd fallen for Harry and fallen hard, like a stone in a well. And he wasn't going to get himself out of this mess. Not without a lot of pain and misery. He was certain of it.

He made sure to cast Silencio on himself before falling asleep that night. He'd never spoken in his sleep as far as he knew, but this was a secret he didn't want Potter to learn. For the ten thousandth time, he thanked his father for drilling wandless magic into him every summer - 'til he went to Azkaban, anyway.

He made sure to cast Silencio on himself frequently after that first night. Sometimes he was even forced to silence himself during sex, just to prevent himself from blurting out something dangerous.

In the end, it did not surprise him that it was Harry himself, and those 'rewards' that were his undoing. Harry started to offer Draco the option of face-to-face sex as a reward, and Draco, being no one's fool, didn't accept it. But his new treatment of Harry was earning him more frequent, and more extravagant rewards. Draco realized Harry now seemed to be offering him pleasant options to choose from almost every other day. And Harry seemed to want to look into his face during sex, because, although he never once pushed or insisted, it was always there, always an option, one out of two. And Harry was definitely noticing that Draco never took the option. Finally, seeing hope, longing, and perhaps a touch of fear or insecurity in Harry's eyes as he offered, once again, to take Draco that way, Draco told himself that Silencio was protection enough, and he took Harry up on his offer.

He knew, right away, as Harry's length slid deliciously into him, that he'd made a mistake. He had silenced himself, as was his new norm, but now he also had to close his eyes, and he wasn't sure he could keep them closed.

They were on what he now thought of as 'their bed', centered in the middle, pillows making him comfortable and Harry's hard cock making him tense in all the right ways. Draco's hands were on Harry's shoulders, his mouth was twisted into a grimace that could have indicated pain but was actually a side effect of intense pleasure.

Harry had put Draco's knees over his shoulders and was bending him almost in half, and Draco was working so hard to keep his eyes closed. Every drop of sensation Harry was wringing from his body was pure ecstasy. He was fairly certain that he'd died and gone to some bizarre combination of physical heaven and emotional hell.

When Harry began to bellow out his orgasm, Draco simply, finally, lost all self-control and opened his eyes. He just could not lose the opportunity to watch this. He had to, purely _had_ to see Harry come, pumping his pleasure deep in Draco's tight, welcoming center.

He thought he was safe. He knew from blow jobs that Harry almost always closed his eyes to come. But he wasn't safe. He should have known he wouldn't be safe. He shouldn't have let Harry fuck him this way. He shouldn't have opened his eyes. He shouldn't have fallen in love. Damn it all to hell, he should never, never have fallen in love.

For Harry opened his eyes. And Draco knew that Harry could see it, written on his face as plain as day. Devotion. Adoration. Love. The pathetic, wretched love of a whore for his hero.

Harry had wanted to crush, destroy and break Draco, but he couldn't. Because Azkaban had broken Draco. Voldemort had broken Draco. Before that, even Lucius had, in some small but crucial ways, broken Draco.

Harry hadn't broken Draco at all. He'd put Draco back together. And it was written all over Draco's miserable face. Draco Malfoy was desperately, pathetically, completely in love with Harry Potter.

For the briefest moment, Draco saw something in Harry's face and relief flooded him. It would be all right. Potter loved him too! Harry wanted him in return! A daydream of a fifteen year contract and long, happy years sitting at Potter's feet and waking next to his employer-turned-lover filled Draco.

And then it all went pear shaped.

Potter's face went cold and he yanked himself away from Draco like one would avoid a fire, a dragon, a pool of filth.

"Liggy!" rang out of his mouth, and she appeared instantly.

"Liggy, get Malfoy his shift and get him out of here. I'm terminating his contract. Send him through the Floo immediately and then go through this place with a white glove and remove Every. Single. Thing that could even **possibly** be considered one of his possessions. Send it back to Tilford and then book me a holiday in… I don't care where. Somewhere snowy. I want to go skiing."

Draco stared at Liggy while Potter raged. He couldn't bear to look at Harry. For the briefest of milliseconds he saw something on Liggy's face that looked almost like gloating. He had the thought that she was glad Potter was kicking a Death Eater out of his bed, and his life. And his heart? But Liggy was far too discreet to let anything show on her face. Wasn't she? He was distracted away from this train of thought as Harry turned and glared one more time at Draco before sweeping from the room.

Draco cowered on the bed, edging toward the corner. Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. Draco tried to tell himself that Harry wasn't just angry, that there was sadness in his eyes as well.

Moments later he found himself emerging unannounced through the Floo into Tilford's back reception room. A handler found him there, almost half an hour later, naked and clutching a gray shift and a small overnight bag, which was rather full and quite ashy, as though it had come through the Floo all by itself. He was crying piteously, sitting on the floor, his arms wrapped around his legs, his face buried in his knees, his long pale hair hiding him like a screen.

As Liggy planned his vacation in the Alps, Harry sat alone, silently, and stared into the fire, thinking, for a long, long time.

Finis

 

This series is continued in the story _Waking Up With Liggy_ which is posted here at AO3


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